


Locker Buddy

by futurevampiress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anixety, Crying, F/M, Panic Attacks, Swearing, vulnerable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 18:41:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14063064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futurevampiress/pseuds/futurevampiress
Summary: You’ve never been good with public speaking. You’ve been able to keep your anxiety under control, but this time it’s just too much.





	Locker Buddy

**Author's Note:**

> This hits a little close to home because I got this idea from what happened to me before I had to present my English project to my class in grade 12. But they actually saw me cry which made it even worse. I didn’t have a panic attack, but I was close to it. Despite that, I hope that this is somewhat comforting to you guys.

Tomorrow is the big day. The day you present your English project. Everything should be fine. You’re going second out of three people. The middle person. No one will remember your project at the end of class. That’s the last person’s problem. You’re gonna be okay.

_But what if you’re not?_

You’re supposed to pick a common theme of three different novels and present your findings to the class with examples and your own opinion. Everyone has to do it. Some people have read the same books to help each other out. Not you. The books you’ve read are not even remotely the same as everyone else’s. Which makes your presentation even more terrifying.

Your chosen theme is family, and how it connects all three books. Similarities, differences, how it relates to the real world. It was the easiest topic to choose because you’re already familiar with the books. Of course, you didn’t tell your teacher that.

You’ve done presentation after presentation throughout your high school years, alone or with a group. But no matter how many times you do it, your anxiety skyrockets. All your classmates staring at you (except the ones that are sneaky enough to be on their phones), the silent judgement. You //know// they’re all judging you because you do the same thing. You at least try to be courteous and look anywhere but their project or eyes to ease some of their tension. You wish they would do the same for you.

You head straight downstairs to your locker when the bell rings. The hallways are always flooded with people, and you groan in annoyance when none of them walk fast enough. You roll your wrists, listening to the bones crack.

_What I wouldn’t give to punch some of these people in the face._

You sigh and tap your foot on the floor when you wait for three girls to move aside from blocking your locker. Saying “excuse me” just isn’t enough anymore. One of them made you drop your book one day. You were not happy. There’s been a bunch of times when other people walking behind you have been bumped and shoved against your locker. You’ve managed to tame your self-control.

Once they’ve moved along, you twist open your lock and pull the door open. You swing your bag around and start hastily putting your things away.

“‘Sup, locker buddy.”

Ahhh. One of the best parts of the day.

“Hey, Bucky.”

It’s your grade 12 year, and you managed to snag a locker beside Bucky Barnes, of all people. On the outside, he seems like the typical jock type (which he’s not), hanging out with his friends all day (which, obviously, he does) and skipping classes (he frowns upon it). You politely said hello to him when he said it first on the first day of grade 12. You didn’t think much of it. Your first impression blinded your judgement of him. While you continuously saw him laughing with his friends and doing weird, stupid things, it didn’t stop from him making friends with you.

About two months after he came to you, you realized how wrong you were about him. He’s really sweet, making sure you’re okay during the day and even ditching his friends to be with you instead. It made you feel special, because one look at him will have girls  _and_  boys dropping their underwear. He’s handsome no doubt, and you thank all the gods that you get to be in close proximity with him almost everyday. Jealous whispers be damned. You didn’t care. Being happy with him matters much more than what other girls said about you.

“How you feeling?” he asks, opening his own locker and putting his books away. “You looked a little annoyed.”

“People just need to move,” you sigh, grabbing your sweater. “Jesus, like stop letting your friends invade other people’s space. Fuck off, maybe?”

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up, and he flinches a little. It’s rare that he sees you really angry at little things. You look over at him, and sigh again, laying your head against your locker.

“Sorry,” you mutter. “Just a little stressed.”

“About tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky’s in your English class, thank god. He already did his presentation on the first day. He was very charismatic and funny, easily making everyone laugh and pay attention. You did of course, and teased him about a few aspects of his project. He didn’t mind. He always enjoyed seeing your smile, no matter what you were smiling about. But it really irks him when he sees you frowning during class or lunchtime. Receiving a “fine” from you every time he asked if you were okay just wasn’t enough for him anymore. Eventually he thought of other methods to make you tell him what was on your mind without being too intruding. You’re not one to let a boy know what you were thinking at times, simply because they’re a  _boy_. But Bucky… is remarkably different. You finally gave in after puppy dog looks and silent begging. Much to his happiness.

Bucky knows you pretty well, whether you like it or not. So he knows all about how you are before a presentation. He’s been in a few of your classes throughout your high school years, and he’s one of the kids that actually pays attention. He quickly noticed how you would twirl your fingers in your uniform kilt, and look at the back wall instead of the class. He could tell that you would talk on a single breath, and that your face would go red from not breathing as often. He comforted you three months into grade 12 about it when he saw you doing the same thing in your biology class. You didn’t know how to react to his kindness.

“You’ll be fine,” he assures you, slamming his locker door shut. “I’ll be there. Just keep looking at me.”

_That’s part of the problem._

It wasn’t long before you were pining after Bucky. It only took three months, actually. You would secretly smile at him whenever he was having a good time with his friends or watching him do something he loves (playing Jenga). His face was damn near perfect. Literally. His face is completely symmetrical, and it’s said that symmetrical faces are more desirable. Along with thick hair. And boy, is his thick as ever. It’s almost down to his shoulders now. He sports stubble everyday, only shaving his face for special occasions, which was rarely. He looked so scruffy but you found him adorable. And liking a scruffy looking, adorable, relatively known guy was a dangerous thing. There were too many girls to look out for. Sure, you didn’t mind at times when he would go to parties with other girls there, but you wish he would just spend time with you instead. You’re not a big party-goer, opting to stay home and watch TV like some normal teenagers. And he was one of your closest friends. You just wanted more time with him.

But then again, maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.

He doesn’t know about your crush on him. You were super careful not to make it so blatantly obvious. And if he doesn’t realize it, then he must be terribly stupid to his surroundings. So when he tells you to just look at him during your presentation tomorrow, you just smile and nod.

“I know.”

The two of you walk to your respective buses, waving at each other goodbye. You’re usually one of the first people to get on your bus, which means the back of the bus. One of the perks of not having more than 20 people on your bus means quiet. You would  _think_. But there always has to be that one kid that has to shout and be annoying. You’d rather not turn your volume up on your phone too high, but you gotta do what you gotta do to not freak out on them.

About an hour later you arrive back home. Having a school in the middle of nowhere is definitely  _not_  a perk. An hour bus ride isn’t too bad; you get to listen to your music. But that means bumpy roads and less time to nap. And getting up at 6am to catch your bus.

You go straight to the dining room table to do your homework, wanting to get it done early. You don’t practice your presentation after that. Winging it may not be the best idea, but you’ve done it for literal  _years_ , so it should turn out fine this time around.

* * *

The first three periods of school the next day were normal enough. You didn’t have time to go over your English presentation, but surely you would review it during your spare. You do, but you get too distracted by your music, and you keep going on the internet to waste time. You skim through your presentation when it’s ten minutes before the bell rings. Procrastination at its finest.

You skip up the stairs to the third floor and take your seat, waiting for your teacher to show up. When she does, you ask her if you can practice in the hall before you go. She agrees, as long as you stay quiet. You thank her and take your things outside, nearly running into Bucky.

“Where you going?” he asks.

“Just practicing outside,” you reply, holding up your laptop.

“You’ll do great,” he says without missing a beat. “And remember, just keep looking at me. I sit in the back. It’ll be like you’re looking at everyone.”

“If you say so.”

He ducks inside the door and takes his seat. You can see him through the window on the door. He smiles brightly and waves at you, and you wave back. You step out of his view and open your laptop to look at your presentation again. You’re not a cue-card person, opting to just improv and gesture to the screen. It’s worked so far. It should be fine.

It should be fine.

“It should be fine.”

You stop whispering what you’re going to say during your presentation and stare at the floor instead.

“But what if it’s  _not_  fine?”

 _What if I say something I don’t mean to? What if I go off-track? I do that a lot in essays, and I sure as hell do it when I’m talking too… Oh my god there’s going to be so many eyes._ Too _many eyes. They’re all staring at me. Judging with their goddamn eyes. This is so stupid. Don’t school board directors realize that not all of us have the capacity or strength to get up in front of our class and present a speech or project? Don’t they know how many of us have crippling anxiety and have panic attacks over such simple things? Do they know that ice breakers on the first day at a new school isn’t the best for everyone? Fucking… Do they know, does_ anyone _know how much it sucks to think that you’re not going to do well on an assignment because you have to_ talk _? Talking fucking sucks, if they haven’t realized. Can they not hear it in our voices? That we’re struggling to breathe from trying to keep the tears in? Our faces going red and our hands shaking from turning the pages? They all think that we’re fine it with, but holy fuck, we’re just… not._

You already started crying before you even started thinking about the school board. You back up against the wall and slide down to the floor, hand covering your mouth as you try to muffle your sobs. You slap the lid of your laptop down and put it on the floor beside you. You bend over your crossed legs and hold your stomach. Your chest heaves as you tell yourself to keep it in.

 _I’m presenting next. Now they’re going to know something’s wrong when I come in with red eyes and a scratchy voice. Goddammit. What if they all come out and see me looking pathetic like this? My god, now_ that’s _the last thing they’re going to be thinking about instead of Steph presenting last. Fuck fuck fuck why did I have to do this? Why_ today _of all days? I could’ve done it plenty of times before. I still freaked out but not as much as now. Why am I doing it now? Oh god. Something bad is gonna happen. That’s why I’m freaking out so much right now. Why why why?_

It’s getting harder to breathe. You feel dizzy and faint from how much you’re crying, and you don’t have control over your hands because they’re shaking so much. Your stomach churns into knots, your body feeling cold and hot at the same time.

“B-Bucky.” It comes out as a quiet choke; and even though you don’t trust your voice, you keep calling his name.

It never reaches above a whisper.

The fact only makes you cry harder, and panic even more. You don’t realize you’re having a panic attack, because you’ve never had one before. You know the symptoms, but you can’t process what’s happening because there’s too many things going on at once.

 _Brett should be done by now. I’m up next. They’re probably all waiting for me. Wondering what the fuck I’m doing out here. Oh god please please please don’t Mrs. Kemmerling come out here to get me. I swear to god I’ll die of embarrassment if you do. Please please_ please _don’t._

Your heartbeat rings in your ears, blocking out all other noise. It sounds like you don’t have any lungs from how hard you’re trying to catch your breath; it seems like you’re losing air. You keep trying to call out for Bucky, but you know he can’t hear you. Not even the class from across the hall can hear you. You can’t move, your rapid trembling paralyzing you to the cold tile. You’re sure that everyone is wondering where you are now. You can’t go back in there. There’s no way. You probably won’t even be able to present because of the state you’re in right now. Nope. Definitely not.

_I can’t go back in there. I’m never coming back here again. I’m never going to do another assignment. Fuck that. Fuck this bullshit. Fuck school. Fuck t–oh no, the door’s opening. Fuck fuck fu–_

“_______?”

_Bucky._

His usual smile is wiped clean from his face and a surge of panic runs through him. He’s never seen you this way before. He quietly closes the door and kneels down in front of you.

“_______, are you okay?” he asks, voice full of concern and worry. You can’t answer him. You can only shake your head. “W-What can I do? What’s wrong? _______? Are you sick? Do you need to g–“

“…eathe,” you sob. “C-Can’t breathe.”

Bucky realizes what’s going on instantly once you tell him that you can’t breathe. He takes your hands in his and grips your clammy palms, and stares you straight in the eyes.

“Remember when I said to keep looking at me during your presentation?” You nod. “Well, fuck that. I just need you to look at me right now and focus on my voice, okay? Listen to me and do as I say.” You nod again. “You’re having a panic attack, so I’m gonna walk you through it. Just keep listening to me, and try your hardest.”

“O… kay.”

“Close your eyes, _______,” he says gently. You do. “Take a big breath and hold it in and count to three.” You try to take a breath in, but it hurts too much. You still try, for Bucky’s sake. Bucky takes whatever he can get. He’s not going to leave your side until you’ve calmed down. “Now breathe out slowly and count to ten.” You sound like a demon as you breathe out, your voice low and scratchy, just as you feared it would be. But you keep going because you have to if you want to look presentable. Bucky smiles once you’ve done your first round, then asks you to do it again.

You squeeze your hands in his when you breathe out for a second time. You open your eyes to look into his, and you feel surprisingly calm, and safe. You’ve never looked at him like this before. He breathes in and out with you to make you keep going, and it seems to be working. Long after you’ve completely settled down, you’re still visibly breathing in and out, just so he can stay a little longer. But when you stop breathing, you know it’s time to give it up.

You cough a few times from being so choked up, so Bucky sits beside you and puts an arm around you, rubbing your arm gently.

"Take it easy,” he whispers. “You’re alright now. You’re okay.”

You close your eyes again and lean against his shoulder, snuggling into him and sniffling. He kisses your hair and whispers comforting things to you while rocking you back and forth.

“I’m sorry,” you say, breaking the serene silence.

“_______,” he warns. “Don’t. Do not apologize for anything, do you understand?”

“But I–”

“No ‘buts’ either,” he says. “This is not your fault, do you hear me? Don’t blame yourself. It’s just your brain’s way of reacting to your situation, okay? It’s a shitty way to react, but it happens. So don’t go and blame yourself for something you had no control over.”

You bite your bottom lip and nod. You clutch Bucky’s arm tighter, and listen to him breathing in and out of his nose, and match your breathing to his. Soon enough, you have complete control of yourself. Your hands have stopped shaking, you can breathe normally, and you don’t feel like you’re dying. Your eyes and head still hurt, but you can bear with it. But everything else once you go through that door? You’re not ready for that.

Unluckily for you, your teacher comes outside, wondering what you’re doing.

“_______?” she says. “Are you ready yet?”

“_______’s not feeling well,” Bucky answers for you. “She can’t present today.”

Your teacher takes one look at your face and sighs. You have the urge to roll your eyes, but you know not to do that to a teacher. Only behind their back.

“You can go tomorrow then,” she replies, going inside and shutting the door. You sigh and roll your head back on Bucky’s shoulder.

“What makes her think I’ll go tomorrow?” you retort.

“It’ll be better then,” Bucky reassures you.

“What makes you think that?”

“Because I’ll be up there with you to help you through it.”

“Bucky, n–“

He gives you a look that says “say-no-to-me-one-more-time” and you instantly stop yourself from speaking. You sheepishly nod and mumble a small “okay” before wiping your hands down your face. Bucky smiles at you and brushes some hair away from your face.

“Come on,” he says, standing up. “Time to go back inside.”

“But I look terrible,” you argue. “I can’t go back in there looking like this.”

“Trust me, you look beautiful,” he replies, holding out his hand. Now your heart is racing for a whole other reason. Your crush on him just rose by 1000%. It’s not going away any time soon.

You smile and nod, taking his hand and letting him pull you up, gathering your laptop after. Your legs feel like jelly from sitting on the hard floor, but you’ll manage.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you say before he opens the door. He gives you a bright smile and lets you go in first.

“Anywhere, anytime, _______. I’ll be right here next to you.“

Even though your eyes are still red and you don’t feel quite back to yourself yet, the fact that Bucky is by your side makes it seem like everything going to be okay.


End file.
